


Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton

by Professional_Creeper



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, Crossover, Dr. Frederick Chilton Being an Asshole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Other, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professional_Creeper/pseuds/Professional_Creeper
Summary: Michael told you and Frederick Chilton (who still insisted on everyone using his title, Doctor, even in the afterlife) that you were soulmates.It was perfect. Dr. Chilton tortured everyone in his life on earth with his relentless snobbery, sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong, and general lack of ethics. You had an "Eat the Rich" bumper sticker on your Prius.Forcing the two of you together would make you miserable for a thousand years, guaranteed!
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write this in the middle of NaNoWriMo and a Holiday Bingo challenge but oops - niche content!

The first day, you really wanted to punch his pretentious snobby face for thinking he was so much better than you.

Dr. Chilton raised one eyebrow when Michael introduced you, glancing up and down your body like he was appraising livestock, and said with a skeptical edge, “Soulmates? Really?”

Eventually he accepted it and took you by the arm and led you home like you were some kind of _present._

Did he forking think you were his property?? (Fork. _Fork!_ Why can’t I say fork?)

But no. This was heaven. You were soulmates. There must have been something about him that would become clear later when you knew him better.

He was, at least, very handsome.

Fork, he was handsome. Brilliant green eyes, the softest brown hair, cute little chipmunk cheeks you kind of wanted to pinch.

He kept trying to control the conversation, lead it by explaining things to you. Talking about himself—but only superficially. Lists of achievements but no personal information. Instead of asking about you, he told you about you—about what he observed. When you did speak, as soon as you gave one little nugget of information, he would extrapolate on what that meant psychologically and how it tied to other things he was more familiar with. He could relate your anecdote about camping to a Shakespeare play, or your high school mascot to some obscure trivia about golden eagles and how popular falconry is in the Middle East and Mongolia.

Honestly, if he kept doing this, you were going to kill him again.

“Shut the fork up! Fork you, you forking piece of shirt! There was obviously some kind of mistake! There is no way an entitled ashhole like you could be my soulmate! I’m going to Michael first thing tomorrow and seeing if I can trade you in for a real person!”

First he was shocked. Then angry. Then a flash of hurt before his face went blank and cold. “Oh, good. I am glad you said it first.”

You stormed out, muttering, “Test. This must be a test...”

But that face haunted your thoughts—that defeated look he gave you. The tension crackling at the edges of his voice as he tried to sound snippy left you with an aching pressure behind your chest.

He was your soulmate, wasn’t he? There must have been something worth exploring behind that face.

You returned to the tediously huge mansion— _his_ dream home, obviously, not yours. It took over an hour to find him among the hundreds of rooms.

He wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t entertaining himself with any of the infinite diversions he could request from Janet. He was just sitting in the corner, staring at the wall. Blank.

There was that tension to him again that you realized was him forcing down his emotions. A tension that was always with him, at least a little bit, all of the time. He would talk slowly, with velvety drawn-out syllables that gave the deliberate impression of calm, but you had never seen him genuinely relaxed since you met.

“Hey... soulmate.”

He swallowed sharply as you walked in, his green eyes going wide as if you’d caught him in the act of something shameful. “Still here?” he asked like he’d hoped you had gone.

You came and sat down beside him on the floor. “Something interesting on that wall?”

“If you cannot tell, then it must be beyond your comprehension.”

“Oh, fork you. What the fork is wrong with you, anyway? I’m trying to be nice here, and…”

His eyes strained, willing the tears they were brimming with not to fall.

It became clear he had no idea what he was doing when it came to… you know, feelings.

He was shy. But instead of retreating quietly inside himself like you would, he talked. He talked and talked and put up this superior persona to defend himself.

Any time you tried to discuss anything real—his hopes, his fears, desires beyond the superficial—that’s when he would change the topic to something meant to dazzle you with his intellect.

You reached down and covered his hand with yours. He looked over at you immediately, surprised. You slotted your fingers through his and squeezed them, leaning over until your shoulder rested against him.

“You were supposed to be mine,” he said quietly. “This is heaven—the good place. You were supposed to love me. I wanted someone who would adore me, but even my soulmate can’t...” he trailed off and changed direction sharply “...is defective.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand. He stared at the place where your flesh met, his eyes fixated on it. “You’re a real jerk, you know,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. “You can’t just expect someone to love you, and they automatically do it. I’m a person, too. You act like you’re the only one that’s important.”

“That is not true. I am interested in learning about you.”

“Yeah, on your own terms. It’s… I don’t know how to describe that thing you do. It’s like you’re only listening until you decide you’ve figured me out, and you can give some kind of academic thesis on me. That’s not bonding. I don’t want to hear you psychoanalyze me. It’s pretty rude that you think you understand me when we only met seven hours ago. Don’t tell me who I am; just listen to me. Try being humble for five minutes.”

He looked away, chin jutting outward. His jaw set. “You do not know anything about me.”

“Then would you tell me something? Something real. Something you’d never tell anyone.”

“I do not know how to get to know someone.”

You almost told him to just try, when you realized that _was_ the secret he was sharing.

“I do not think anyone would ever desire me, or want to be close to me. Something is… missing from me. Even the soulmate system malfunctioned.” He smiled weakly. 

Maybe this was why you were soulmates. You hated snobby jerks because they were bullies… but you loved nurturing a person’s soft side. You loved finding a partner’s insecurities and reassuring them. Dr. Frederick Chilton was nothing but a pile of insecurity wrapped in a fancy suit.

“It takes time to get to know someone, that’s all. Even your soulmate. You’re not alone anymore, OK?” You squeezed his hand, and he gave the softest little gasp that broke your heart. “There are already things about you that I find desirable. Your hair, for one. I’ve wanted to touch it all day. I bet it’s soft.”

“You _are_ my soulmate… you may.” He dipped his head to you, and you ran your fingers through the dense brown, going straight for the longest, floppiest part above his forehead.

“Oh my god, it’s _so_ soft. It’s like a forking teddy bear!”

He blushed at the praise and grew ticklish, squirming under your persistent fingers, lips pulling into a rare smile. When he opened his eyes again, you were still in front of him, one hand grasping his fingers, the other curled into his hair, the breath from your delicious lips close enough to feel exhaled against his. And suddenly, your lips were on his, warm and careful and exploring.

His arm wrapped around you, one large hand splayed behind your back to support you and coax you in closer. His lips moved slowly, taking his time. He didn’t want to rush into some fevered, passionate frenzy. You were going slow as well, giving the kiss a light pressure that gradually deepened, your lips parting ever so slightly, but your tongue stayed in its own mouth for now. There would be time later to push each other’s boundaries and explore hidden desires. There would be time for building intensity as your bond grew. Right now, this first kiss—the first kiss he’d ever had that felt so vulnerable—he just wanted to hold you and feel your warms in his arms. He hoped you would never pull away, not until he’d memorized the way your lips moved when his slid over them.

He wanted to take his time and get to know you with this kiss.

There was all the time in the world now, and he wouldn’t be alone.


End file.
